


En Cee One Seven

by DuccleMinded



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, Finding Love In a Bad Place, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuccleMinded/pseuds/DuccleMinded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty manages to kidnap Sherlock and John and forces them to do bad, dark things to each other.<br/>Ooooh... This scenario hasn't happened before... ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	En Cee One Seven

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extremely, intenselty dark fic, very unlike our other ones...  
> Read. At. Your. Own. Risk.  
> Rated NC-17 or a very hard R for dark and scary themes and images.  
> Sherlock and John still love each other though! Please don't think otherwise! They always love each other! And they always will!! Baahhhhhhh!!!! I'm sorry.

John Watson's steps were quick and purposeful. His heels left a careful indent in the mud. Sherlock Holmes trailed behind him, which was uncommon for Sherlock- he was usually the one in front.

 

John was mad.

 

“Why are you angry?” Sherlock asked, a bemused smile crossing his face.

 

“What? You don't want to take a guess?” John huffed.

 

“Was it because I picked up my take away?” Sherlock tried not to giggle.

 

John turned on his heels to face Sherlock, his face scrunched in a frown.

 

“I just think it's _interesting_ that you chose that specific _restaurant_ to pick up from” John crossed his arms, starting Sherlock down. “What a coincidence that Sarah and I happened to be there. And instead of picking _up_ your food, you decided to sit _down_.”

 

The next movement went so fast that John couldn't have seen it coming. Sherlock took John's arm and placed it carefully in his. The entire gesture had been so sudden and so foreign that it completely threw John off guard. 

 

Now, Sherlock wasn't one to usually show affection. When he was pleased with something that John did (which was rare enough in itself), the most John ever got was a light hand on his shoulder or one of Sherlock's warm smiles. 

 

While John secretly reveled in those moments, he had clearly understood that Sherlock was not a touchy feely person and he respected that- which is why he knew something was wrong when Sherlock grabbed his arm.

 

“Sherlock-” John began to ask, but was only hushed.

 

“Trust me.” Was all he said, “pay attention to what's in front of you. Do not look back.”

 

John gave the slightest nod. Off on another adventure. It was never boring with Sherlock.

 

Sherlock strode down the street in large, confident steps. Without warning, he grasped John's hand more firmly in his arm and ducked into an alleyway.

 

“Be quick,” He murmured, and finally letting his arm go, he held on to John's hand as the two of them ran down the darkened street only to come face to face with about ten burly looking men.

 

John and Sherlock both stopped in their tracks. With a subtle shoulder shove, Sherlock placed John behind him and began backing away, a calm smile on his face.

 

“Good evening, gentleman.” Sherlock said, “to what do we owe the pleasure.”

 

“A certain consulting criminal has been looking for you.” One of the men said. “You're coming with us.”

 

“But of course.” Sherlock said. He let go of John's arm and gently pushed him away. “Go on, Doctor Watson. I will no longer be needing your service tonight.”

 

John just grinned. “You're not serious.”

 

Sherlock's eyes were firm though. “John,” he started to say, but was interrupted.

 

Pulling Sherlock out of the way, John threw a punch at the man who was sneaking up behind them. 

 

“Stop wasting our time,” said one of the burly men, “Just grab them.”

 

One man was one thing, but there were several more. John whipped out his gun, training it on one man, then another and another.

 

This made one of the men laugh.

 

“Are you going to shoot us?” He laughed. “I'd like to see you try.”

 

John shot him in the leg. 

 

The man went down with a yell. The rest of the men closed in. John shot twice more.

 

Sherlock managed to take one man down by breaking the wrist, but he was no match for the next two that leapt on him. 

 

“We have your consulting detective companion, Dr. Watson!” The man who had Sherlock in a headlock shouted. “Stop right now, or we'll kill him.”

 

“John,” Sherlock said in using his bored voice, “Run. Get out of here, they won't kill me.”

 

But John immediately dropped his gun on the floor. 

 

“Oh, Sherlock.” He said, “You never listen to me. Why should I listen to you?”

 

One of the men hit Sherlock hard in the back of the head. John cried out but was cut short by a head injury of his own. He saw a flash of white, then black.

 

***

When John woke up, he couldn't see straight. It must have been that blow to the head. Sherlock loved to tell him that it took ten minutes to regain eyesight after a blow to the head. Sherlock!

 

“Sherlock?” He blinked several times, trying to get back his eyesight. “Sherlock!”

 

“I'm right here John.” Said a voice to his right. “I'm here.”

 

John looked over. Sherlock was tied to a chair next to him. It was only then he realized that he was tied to a chair himself, bound at the arms and around the feet. Someone knew what they were doing. The knots were strong.

 

“Are you hurt?” Sherlock asked him.

 

“I can't see very well,” John replied. “But I'm ok. Are you hurt?”

 

“No.” Sherlock said. Ever the strong man. “John, listen, I need you to-”

 

A door opened and light broke into the room. Steps were heard and then-

 

“Why hello. My guests are awake.”

 

Moriarty.

 

“Jim.” Sherlock's voice sounded like he was greeting an old friend. “Pleasure as always.”

 

Moriarty appeared from the darkness, swinging a switchblade in his hand. He turned his attention was all on the consulting detective.

 

“Sherlock, I believe that you have something that belongs to me.” He said.

 

“If you're talking about the government flash drive, I don't have it.” Sherlock said.

 

“Mm-hmm.” Moriarty nodded, “I figured as much. In the hands of your fat brother I presume.”

 

“I am not going to defend my brother's weight issue.”

 

“Oh please,” John rolled his eyes. “Mycroft has no weight issues.”

 

Sherlock had to smile. John got along with pretty much everyone, that's just how his personality worked. Mycroft had pulled Sherlock aside once, telling him how happy he was that his little brother met someone with such charm. 

 

Sherlock's mind returned to the situation at hand. John was very brave, but this was a delicate matter. If Sherlock didn't play his cards right, this could go immensely poor for John.

 

“Oh yes, good evening doctor.” Moriarty said, acting as if he had just noticed him. “Good of you to join us, as always.”

 

"Leave him out of this, Jim." Sherlock rolled his eyes, not bothering to look in John's direction.

 

John could sense Sherlock's agitation, even in his listlessness. He was trying so hard to protect him. He didn't have to do that.

 

Moriarty wouldn't fall for it anyway. And he didn't.

 

"Oh Sherly, my dear boy. How could we ever forget our dear doctor?” Moriarty's lips curved upwards into a cruel looking smile. “He's looking especially handsome tonight.”

 

He skipped a step over to John and bent down to get eye level with him. “My, my what kind of cologne you're wearing?”

 

“You don't speak to him.” It was the first time John heard him use that tone of voice since the pool scene. Something about it made John melt a little bit inside.

 

Moriarty took a step back towards Sherlock. He snatched a hand out and caught Sherlock by his throat, squeezing only a little to let him know that he was there.

 

“Don't talk back to me, Holmes.” Moriarty sneered adding pressure. John couldn't stand it.

 

“Leave him alone!” John yelled, straining in his bonds. “Don't touch him!”

 

Moriarty tilted his head in John's direction. Sherlock made a choking noise, trying to talk to him. Or maybe he was spewing more threats at Moriarty, John couldn't tell. Moriarty let go out Sherlock's neck, leaving him gasping in his chair. 

 

When Moriarty walked up to him, John sat up straight, acting for all the world as if he were called upon by a teacher for a presentation. He would not let this man intimidate him. 

 

Moriarty eyed him up and down. All of a sudden he felt vulnerable and uncomfortable. He shrank a bit in his seat, as if to avoid Moriarty's stare.

 

“I do see why Sherlock keeps you around, dear pet...” He said.

 

Sherlock let out a new sound, a cross of a growl and a whimper. John didn't like it- Sherlock knew or saw something that he didn't.

 

Moriarty reached a hand out and John tried to pull away.

 

“Shh,” Moriarty stroked his cheek, “don't be afraid, dear. You pretty little thing.”

 

John involuntarily let out a gasp.

 

“Jim.” Sherlock's voice came again, slightly more desperate then last time. “Jim, listen. Whatever you want to settle can be between you and me. We don't need to involve him in this.”

 

But Moriarty was ignoring Sherlock, eating John's entire being with his eyes.

 

“John Boy,” he said, dropping his hand finally. “May I call you John Boy?”

 

John said nothing and Moriarty went on, speaking to him as if he were a child.

 

“We're going to play a game now, and I need your help.” He smiled at him, a terrible smile that made John sick to his stomach. “You want to help your good friend Jim?”

 

John swallowed.

 

“John, don't answer him! Don't talk to him!” Sherlock suddenly yelled off to the side. 

 

John looked over, but Moriarty's hand reached out and caught him by the chin, forcing his gaze back at him. “John Boy, are we going to play or not.”

 

“I don't want you to hurt him anymore.” John blurred the sentence out before he could stop himself. Before he couldn't show his hand.

 

“No.” Sherlock was already saying, “No, no, no. No!”

 

Moriarty patted his cheek and chuckled. It was all to easy.

 

“Of course.” He said, “you like Sherlock, don't you?”

 

_Where the hell was Moriarty going with this?_ John thought,  _what sick prank was Moriarty going at now?_

 

“I want you to let him go.” He said, looking at Moriarty in almost a puzzled way.

 

“You would do anything- you _have_ done anything to ensure his safety, have you not?”

 

“I...” John squinted and tiled his head. He didn't understand. “I...”

 

“You love him, right?”

 

“ _John_!” Sherlock was straining against his bonds, glaring at John, willing him to stop talking with every fiber of his being.

 

Moriarty walked calmly up to Sherlock, taking his backhand and slapping him in the face. Sherlock winced, but didn't say anything.

 

“Stop!” John shouted, “please stop!”

 

“Do you love him?” Moriarty shrieked. 

 

“I love him...” John whispered. Moriarty grinned. He knew it.

 

“I want you to show me how much you love him, John.” Moriarty's speak was slow and clear so that John could understand.

 

His eyes raised. He understood.

 

“You want me to show you?” He said, thanking heaven his voice sounded as steady as it did.

 

“John, stop listening to him!” Sherlock was saying. He gave Sherlock a look. Sherlock growled over at Moriarty. “You don't have to _do_ this Jim!”

 

“Shut up, Holmes.” Moriarty took John's face in his hand again. This time he didn't look away.

 

“Promise me you don't hurt him any more and I'll do whatever you want.” He said.

 

Sherlock gave another soft wail, but Moriarty was grinning from ear to ear.

 

“My dear, you have my word.” He said. His hand fell down to her tied arms and he cut them loose.

 

“What do you want me to do?” John asked, as Moriarty untied his feet.

 

“I want you to go over there and sit on Sherlock's lap.” Moriarty said.

 

John made a face, but only nodded and went over. Sherlock looked away as he sat on his lap. He was embarrassed too. John placed his hands on his lap and looked at Moriarty- waiting for more instructions and making calculations in his head.

 

“Now what?” He asked.

 

“Give him a kiss.”

 

He started, body tensing up. “... What?”

 

“You heard me.” Moriarty said, one arm crossed over his body and the hand to his chin. “Kiss him.”

 

John gulped. He turned back to Sherlock. His face was red but his eyes were ice. He was staring at John with fierce eyes.

 

“Don't,” was all he said.

 

John mumbled awkwardly. “It's just a kiss.”

 

Sherlock said nothing. John leaned in and kissed him, just a small peck. He looked at Moriarty with a frown. Moriarty didn't look happy.

 

“There.”

 

“There??” Moriarty said, “that was the kind of kiss you might give a grandfather. I want you to kiss him like you mean it.”

 

John hesitated and Sherlock murmured more threats towards Moriarty. John turned again and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock looked at him in surprise.

 

“John what are you...”

 

“It's ok.” He whispered in Sherlock's ear.

 

He quickly planted his lips on him again. 

 

His lips were softer than he thought. Sherlock wasn't the first boy he had kissed. There was a young man in college... But that was a long time ago. An experiment really. He hadn't remembered enjoying it, but he didn't hate it either. 

 

It was all so foreign. Sherlock barely touched him and now they were kissing. When Sherlock's tongue reluctantly traveled into his mouth, he tasted like tea, tobacco, and was that... some kind of acid maybe. It was kind of what John figured he'd taste like.

 

He was about to let go, but then he saw his chance. John let his arms down and started to untie Sherlock's bonds. Sherlock noticed this and started kissing him more forcefully. John was a bit surprised, but he took it for what it was- Sherlock was egging him on, distracting Moriarty for just a few seconds more.

 

John almost had Sherlock free when he felt a hand on top of his head and was violently jerked back. He fell off Sherlock's lap and landed on the floor with a thud.

 

“John!” Sherlock shouted as Moriarty stood him up by the hair.

 

“My dear, stupid man, whatever were you thinking?” Moriarty shook him and John's hands were on top of his own head.

 

“Please!” John winced in pain. Moriarty shook him some more and he thought his hair might fall out. His military cut was short and he didn't understand how Moriarty could make it hurt as much as it did.

 

He began to get desperate.

 

“Listen,” He was speaking too quickly, his words were slurring together. “Listen, you don't need Sherlock. You can let him go. And I'll stay, please just let him go.”

 

Sherlock was shaking violently but Moriarty was laughing. He laughed so hard that he dropped John down to the ground, and he again landed with a thud. He picked himself up and stood by Sherlock's chair, one protective hand on his flatmate's shoulder.

 

“Oh, oh my.” Moriarty wiped a tear away. “You affection for him is just too much, my dear. Offering to sacrifice yourself and everything!”

 

Moriarty began laughing again, trying to get out his words at the same time. “Besides, my stupid doctor, if I were to free Sherlock, he would just run to his little Lestrade. And then they would come and find you and ruin all my plans...”

 

Moriarty sighed and clapped his hands once. “No, no. I cannot have that. You both must be punished for such a crime as attempted escape.”

 

He turned to Sherlock and with the most evil voice he said, “Fuck him.”

 

Sherlock almost didn't hear him; he didn't want to hear him. The idea seemed so outlandish. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You're going to rape your beloved Doctor, Sherlock. Or I will kill both of you.”

 

This had gone far enough.

 

“I will not.” Sherlock said, firmly.

 

“If you don't, I will.” Moriarty's voice was soft, but firm.

 

Sherlock looked up with horror. “You wouldn't.”

 

Moriarty just raised his eyebrows. _Oh, wouldn't I?_ , he didn't have to say aloud.

 

He went over and grabbed John's bad arm with his hand. John yelped and Sherlock yelled.

 

“Leave him alone!!!” He screamed.

 

“But he's so _cute_ , Sherlock.” Moriarty grabbed John face in his hand and licked his cheek. “So endearing. I'm surprised that you two haven't gone at it already...”

 

Moriarty dipped his hand down John's pants and Sherlock strained against the ropes so hard, they were cutting into his wrists.

 

“I wouldn't be gentle with you either, John Boy.” Moriarty's voice was barely a whisper in his ear. “I'd get those ropes back out, I'd tie you down, I'd be so far up your arse, I'd-”

 

“NO!” Sherlock screamed. “Stop, Jim. I'll do it. I'll... I'll do it.”

 

“Oh good!” Moriarty's voice sounded like he had talked his parents into going to Disneyland.

 

He threw John to the ground and pulled out a gun from his back pocket. 

 

“Just in case either one of you try anything,” he explained.

 

“John, my dear, why don't you untie our friend Sherlock. Go ahead, it's alright.” Moriarty pointed the gun at both of them.

 

John hands were all too eager to get Sherlock out of the bonds. Sherlock fell on top of him and started shaking violently. He wasn't sure why.

 

“Take off his pants, John Boy.” Moriarty cut in. “Sherlock, no need to be on the ground, it would be much easier for him if you got back up on that chair.”

 

Sherlock glared at him. He stood up and made a move for him, but Moriarty just aimed the gun at John's head. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

 

“Tsk tsk.” Moriarty said, waggling a finger at him with his other hand. “You don't want a bullet in his brain, do you?”

 

“You would be better off, Sherlock.” John said, suddenly. Sherlock turned, horrified. He met John's terrified eyes. “It would be better if you just let him kill me.”

 

Sherlock forgot about the gun and went back to John's side, squatting in front of him. John wouldn't look at him, and when Sherlock took John's face in his hands, he realized John was crying. His brave solider. Sherlock wiped John's tears with both his thumbs while trying to hold his own in.

 

“Don't say that.” He said firmly. “Never say that.”

 

John shook his head. “But I can't do this to you, Sherlock.” He quivered, “I know you. You'll never forgive yourself. I'll be the end of you. I can't let that happen. I can't and I won't.”

 

Sherlock cradled his face in his hands. “You... You are very dear to me.” He said. “You will not be the end of me, you never will. My life would not be the same without you. I cannot lose you. Not to Moriarty not to anyone, don't you understand?”

 

John looked up at him. Sherlock was staring at him with his stern blue eyes and he was staring right back. He was at a loss for words.

 

“Enough chatter.” Moriarty sounded irritated behind them. “What's the verdict here?”

 

Sherlock didn't look back. He just nodded to John and John nodded back. Sherlock helped John stand up and he walked to the chair. John stood in front of him, not sure what to do next. 

 

“Sherlock, take off your pants.” Moriarty ordered.

 

Sherlock did and John looked away. He didn't understand why, he knew he'd have to face him in a little anyway. Sherlock was wearing blue and grey plaid boxers. He sat back down.

 

“Well,” Moriarty waved the gun around. “take your cock out. I don't have to explain everything, do I?”

 

Sherlock's cheeks flushed. John was still looking away as he did. Sherlock was soft and unprepared.

 

Moriarty sighed. “I guess I do have to. John, get on your knees and turn him on already. He isn't ready for you in this condition.”

 

John swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't meet Sherlock's eyes as he got to his knees and faced Sherlock's penis. It was flaccid. John brought a hand out and started stroking him. Sherlock immediately started to react, although he tried not to. Moriarty could tell too.

 

“Lick it.” He ordered.

 

John bent his head down. His tongue flicked out tentatively as he felt around the head of his penis.

 

“More... More...” John heard a fly unzip. Moriarty was actually getting off on this.

 

He closed his eyes tight and opened his mouth, taking just the head of Sherlock's dick in. It tasted a bit bitter and odd, but not all together unpleasant. Sherlock stirred and kept his hands pinned to his sides. He would _not_ touch John. He would not touch him _at all_. 

 

“Is that the best you can do??” Moriarty was saying.

 

John put a hand at the bottom of Sherlock's cock and started stroking at the same time as he was sucking. Finally Sherlock started to react the way Moriarty wanted to. He was becoming harder, despite himself. Sherlock's hands balled into fists.

 

“Wrap your entire lips around him.”

 

John did as he told him and hollowed his cheeks around Sherlock. He tried to take as much of Sherlock in his mouth as he could, but it wasn't easy. Sherlock was growing larger by the second.

 

John could feel him trying to control himself. Sherlock's shaft was getting harder and softer and harder and softer in his mouth. John felt so guilty. Sherlock was always the gentleman even in the worst of worse situations.

 

Moriarty came up from behind Sherlock's chair.

 

“Nice and tight, isn't he?” He grinned. John looked away, embarrassed.

 

“Shut up,” Sherlock said. Moriarty just laughed.

 

He grabbed John's head and stopped him from servicing Sherlock. But only for a minute.

 

“We don't want him to blow his load before the actual party starts, now do we?” Moriarty said, stroking John's face. He wished to God that he would stop doing that.

 

Moriarty pushed John over easily and he lay on his back on the floor. He then kicked Sherlock into place above him. It was as if he were playing with dolls.

 

“You know what to do next, right Sherlock?” Moriarty smiled evilly. “I could never tell with you.”

 

He looked over at John and in a joking way said, “I might even need to explain it to you.”

 

“You don't,” John said, quickly. He didn't want Moriarty in his ear any longer.

 

“Then get to work,” he said, placing his foot on Sherlock's head. 

 

Sherlock waved his arm's about his head almost as if he was waving off a fly. Either hand was beside John's shoulder's. From a passerby's point of view, it looked like he was doing a sit up over him. Only John's shirt was a bit torn and Sherlock wasn't wearing any pants.

 

Sherlock leaned over, closer to John's face. It broke his heart when John flinched away ever so slightly.

  
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...” He didn't know what else to say- what else he _could_ say to make this situation any better.

 

John lifted his hand and cupped Sherlock's face. Sherlock, without knowing better, leaned into his touch, trying to soak up any forgiveness that he could muster up.

 

John took Sherlock's hand in his from between their bodies. Sherlock grabbed his semi-hard penis in one hand as John guided him to his behind entrance. He looked at him.

 

“Okay.” He said. Sherlock sighed.

 

He looked straight at the wall as he entered him, slowly. John whimpered a bit, but tried to stay quiet. Sherlock failed at hiding the gasp that came from his lips.

 

He was really tight. To the best of Sherlock's knowledge, John had never done this before. Not with a man anyway. He wondered if John knew that he... There was a look in John's eyes, a squinting, a then,

 

“Sherlock,” he said, softly, “Am I your first?”

 

Sherlock felt a swoop of his stomach, part from embarrassment and part of relief in the truth of his answer. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh! Oh no!” Moriarty was laughing that hysterical laugh again. “This is way too priceless. Ha! I seriously couldn't have done this better myself... Ah!”

 

Sherlock heaved and for a second John was afraid he would start crying. Why did it have to happen this way? It didn't have to, right? John leaned up to Sherlock's ear. He had to take matters into his own hands.

 

“Sherlock,” he said, “he's never going to let us go. Just push a little more... Just a little more...”

 

Sherlock did as he asked. He pushed his penis deeper in John's arse. John took it like a champ even though he felt as if he were being split open. It hurt, but he was determined not to let Sherlock know.

 

When Sherlock was all the way inside John, he held himself there for a moment or two, just trying to get John adjusted to him. Then he began moving.

 

It hurt at first, but eventually it just became uncomfortable. The fact that John could hear Moriarty beating himself off in the background didn't help in the slightest. John had his eyes directed at the ceiling for approximately four minutes before he decided to steal a glance at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock was looking down and to the side with his eyes closed. His movements matched that of a robot. He was emotionless. He was refusing to look at him. It was unnerving somehow. This was such an intimate act and yet they were performing it in the most distant manner possible

 

“Sherlock? Look at me?” John barely squeaked. 

 

Sherlock moved his head slightly. He could hear him. He didn't move.

 

“Sherlock, please. I know it's bad... But I need you. Please look at me.”

 

Sherlock lifted his eyes slightly. He was crying. 

 

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock in a hug as he continued to gently push and pull in and out of him. John closed his eyes. 

 

Without knowing what he was doing, John's hand slid down to his own cock that had become hard in all this motion. He bit his lips as he wrapped his hands around himself and began stroking in rhythm to Sherlock's thrusts.

 

“Is he big?” Moriarty voice seemed like it was coming from right next to him. Maybe it was. John wasn't going to open his eyes and check. He kept them tightly closed.

 

“Answer me,” the voice was getting dangerous.

 

“Yes,” he mumbled. He could feel Sherlock's rhythm begin to slow down.

 

“How big- Sherlock, don't you dare stop... John, how big is he?”

 

“Very big. He's very big. _Oh_...”

 

Sherlock had picked up his pace again and motion coming from his butt was beginning to get familiar. It was even beginning to feel better then he thought it would feel. It felt good. More than good. It felt amazing.  _He_ felt amazing.

 

John bit his lip, trying not to make Sherlock feel worse then he already did. If John moaned and whimpered then Sherlock would think he was taking advantage of John and it was the last thing John wanted. John worked himself faster. He wanted to groan in pleasure, but he coughed instead.

 

“John...” Sherlock growled, “a-are you...”

 

“I'm fine.” He breathed. He placed his hand on Sherlock's back, inadvertently pulling Sherlock's thin frame even closer. Sherlock gasped in response.

 

“ _I'm fine_ ,” he said again in a sigh.

 

“Does he feel good?” Moriarty was talking again.

 

John shook his head- not because he  _didn't_ feel good, but because he didn't want Moriarty's input.

 

“Does. He. Feel. Good.” Moriarty asked again.

 

“Yes! Yes,” John felt like crying. He was hurting Sherlock with his words.

 

“ _Tell_ him how good he feels, John Boy. Tell him how good he feels inside you.”

 

“You feel good, Sherlock.” John forced out.

 

Moriarty let this go on for a couple more minutes, and just when he thought the other one couldn't handle anymore, he grabbed Sherlock's shoulders, splitting them apart rather painfully.

 

Sherlock groaned from being pulled out too fast, and John cried out. He stopped servicing himself. The stinging sensation between his bum calmed after a second or two. The pleasure was all gone and he found himself writhing on the ground, pitifully.

 

“What's wrong?” Moriarty asked. 

 

John edged away. 

 

“Is it because he's not inside you anymore?” Moriarty whispered, almost sympathetically. “Is it because you miss him?”

 

John moaned and tried to cross his legs.

 

“What do you want?”

 

John shook his head. He didn't want to say it. He didn't want to know what he wanted. But Moriarty was no longer patient.

 

“Well the answer is obvious.” He said, almost too simply. “So I want you to ask.” 

 

“N-no...” Sherlock whined.

 

“Ask, him. John.” Moriarty's voice boomed above him. “Beg Sherlock or I will shoot him in the back of the head, right now.”

 

That was enough for him.

 

“Sherlock, please!” John finally cried as he begged. Tears streaming, he looked over at Sherlock kneeling a few feet away from him. “Please, fuck me. I _want_ you to fuck me. Fuck my brains out Sherlock, do it now, _please_!”

 

Sherlock understood what would happen if he didn't comply. He crawled over to John, hoovering over his body. He struggled at first as Sherlock reentered him- he even tried to scoot away, but Sherlock held his wrists above his head.

 

“It stings...” John growled.

 

“I know, John, I'm sorry.” Sherlock whispered. He kissed his mouth, taking the whine away from him. “It won't hurt in a little bit.”

 

Sherlock was right. After a while, they got their rhythm back. Sherlock's breathing became huskier and John sighed and moaned with him.

 

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

 

“No.” Sherlock had never heard John's voice so deep. “It feels good, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock leaned over and started mouthing at John's neck. He could hear Moriarty snicker. John tilted his head up, giving him more access. 

 

Sherlock's hips bucked forwards and he went faster. He reached down and nudged John's hand away from his own shaft. Sherlock took John's impossibly hard member in his hand and began to slide up and down. 

 

Sherlock's tongue made a hot, wet trail down his neck to his chest. Sherlock took one of John's nipples in his mouth and licked it. John's short nails dug into Sherlock's back. 

 

Sherlock hissed a bit and put his forehead to John's neck. John mouthed the inside and outside of Sherlock's ear.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Sherlock shuddered. “ _John_.”

 

The way Sherlock said his name caused John's insides to go berserk. In this fashion, in this heat, in this motion. John groaned and bucked up against Sherlock, causing him to go balls deep.

 

“ _Sherlock_!” John moaned out his name loud and lustfully and the sensation was finally too much. 

 

Sherlock started coming in him. He tried to pull out, but John held him fast, letting him ride his orgasm out inside him. The pulsating dick in him caused John to tip over the edge himself and he started spilling into Sherlock's hands.

 

“Oh God, oh fuck,” John was mumbling to himself, shivering as the aftershocks rode out of them both.

 

For a few brief moments, they lay there quietly, trying to gain their breath back. Then suddenly Sherlock remembered where they were and jerked his head up.

 

Moriarty was gone.

 

Sherlock immediately sprang up, and ran to get his shirt, coat and his boxers. He slipped the boxers on and with amazing gentleness eased John up to a slanted sitting position.

 

“John... John, look at me.” He shook him slightly, but John's eyes were far away.

 

“God...” Sherlock mumbled. 

 

He started cleaning him up with his shirt. John whimpered a bit as he slowly got out of his trance. Sherlock whispered soft reassurances to him, letting him know it was all over, that they were going to be okay. He just wished it were true.

 

Sherlock wrapped them both up in their clothes and put his arm around John as he called the police. Sherlock leaned his head on his flatmate's shoulder, trying to delete from the hard drive every awful thing that had happened tonight.

 

“Sherlock,” John whispered, suddenly. “I want you to know that... That I do.” 

 

Sirens were heard coming from afar. Help was on the way.

 

Sherlock looked over at him, smoothing away his hair, tracing the angry bruise over his eyebrow with his finger.

 

“You do what?” he asked John, softly.

 

“I _do_ love you.”

 

John stared at Sherlock, the tears coming freely now. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and the two held each other closer.

 

“I know you do, John,” Sherlock said, nuzzling the top of his head with his nose. “I do too.”

 

Maybe he wouldn't erase everything.

 


End file.
